I'm Dead But I Don't Know It
by Tom Beaumont
Summary: George is depressed after, ahem, what happened in the finale, and goes over it in his head. Rather CaGey to start, but nothing's over 'til it's over... Rated T.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm Dead (But I Don't Know It)**

_**Tom Sez:** My boy! My spiritual brother! My vicarious alternate me! **Nooooooooo!**_

_O - kaaay. So I'm taking this stuff waaaay to seriously. (It's making me ssstttrrreeeeetttccchh my words out; that's a critical issue - and 'medicine' ain't gonna cut it on this one.) It's depressing me no end, so I had to write something to make me feel better. I hope it does the same for you._

_**Tom Also Sez:** The ending is an ending, but I might want to continue this piece - maybe. Call it a 'backdoor pilot' if you will. If you like the way it's going, lemme know, and I'll see what I can do. I think it could actually become something decent, but would you put it in your 'fall lineup'? (My mind just went to the gutter for a second, and I am so sorry. **Or am I?**_)

_(**Also Tom Also Sez**:_ _Yes. Yes, I am.)_

_**Can You Feel The Disclaimer Tonight:** Four months until the next new_ Grey's Anatomy_, which I don't own. I hate not having closure, don't you?_

* * *

George lay flat on his back on the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. The patches of bumps and dips made him think of a unlabeled topographic map that represented an unfamiliar desert.

_Which of these deserts is largest by area?_

_A. Sahara  
B. Gobi  
C. American Sandhills  
D. None of the Above_

He heard Callie's voice, gentle and calm. "Honey?" she asked. "Can I get you something?" He looked over at her. She was standing by the phone, room service menu in hand. That was Callie for you. Concerned. Loving. Helpful. Unfortunately, even she wouldn't be able to provide the thing he wanted most. Unless, of course, room service had a spare time machine laying around.

_Which of these scientists' theories essentially disprove the concept of time travel?_

_A. Newton  
B. Einstein  
C. Curie  
D. None of the Above_

"I'll have two cheeseburgers, one with no onions," Callie said into the phone. "Extra cheese on both. A double order of French fries. And a hot fudge brownie sundae, no nuts." She looked at George. "And extra-extra whipped cream." A mischievious grin played on her lips.

He tried to return her expression, but his facial muscles didn't want to come to the party.

_How many muscles are used to smile?_

_A. Ten  
B. Thirteen  
C. Nineteen  
D. None of the Above_

Callie hung up, and walked back to the bed. She gazed at him tenderly for a second, then the resolve kicked in. "Shit happens, right?" she asked, her voice determined. "You'll apply for reinstatement - "

George closed his eyes and groaned.

She was undeterred. " - you'll get back in, and you'll do your internship again. And this time, it'll be a breeze."

He frowned. Hard. "Why? Why will it be a breeze? Because I won't make all the same stupid mistakes?"

_Which of George O'Malley's stupid "screws" was the stupidest?_

_A. Screwing up his first surgery (a basic appendectomy), causing the death of a patient  
B. Screwing a sad and lonely Meredith Grey, a woman who didn't like him-like him, and he kinda knew that  
C. Screwing his best friend Isobel Stevens - while drunk, of course (and then liking it; uh-oh) - instead of staying with his wife  
D. None of the Above - yeah, right_

Callie grimaced. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

George sighed. "I - I feel so - lost. I was ready. I studied hard. I knew most of the answers. It wasn't like I thought I'd aced it, but - " He fought a sob. "I didn't think I failed. Never in a million years would I think that I just..."

"I know," she replied, sitting next to him and stroking his hair.

"I can't go back," he said. "I can't."

"George..."

"You don't understand. It's not just the year. It's the place." He bit his lip. "The people. All those doctors and nurses and orderlies. Seeing them stare at me. Hearing the whispers."

Callie's head tilted. "Whispers."

"'What's he doing here?' and 'Didn't he flunk out?' and 'George O'Failure' and whatever else they can think of. I can hear everyone now, clear as a bell."

"Nobody will do that," she replied.

"Yes, they will." George's cheeks puffed a bit. "Plus, while I'm on rounds with my fellow interns - my second set of fellow interns, no less - I'll bump into Alex or Cristina or Meredith or Izzie - "

_Which woman should George O'Malley want to spend the rest of his mortal life with?_

_A. Callie, his beautiful, supportive, hot-hot-hot wife  
B. Izzie, his beautiful, supportive, hot-hot-hot best friend  
C. Both - which isn't a real option, and he knows it  
D. None of the Above - which is what he should've picked for everybody's sake_

" - and since they'll be actual doctors with patients and cases and whatnot, we'll have some awkward silence, and say our 'see ya arounds' and that'll be it." George chuckled humorlessly. "I might as well take my now-worthless diploma and three hundred thousand dollars in student loan debt and see if I can get my high school job back, working the fryers at a KFC."

Callie breathed, then said, "So you've got a career plan. Good to know."

They stared at each other for a moment, then she smiled. It made his cheeks feel warm. "I don't deserve you," he said.

"No. You definitely do not." She leaned down and kissed him, gently at first, then with a bit more heat as he started to respond.

_Which of the following is a sign of sexual arousal on Callie O'Malley's body?_

_A. "Hungry mouth", featuring tender, juicy lips and active tongue  
B. Rapid heartbeat and respiration, caused by speedy removal of fuzzy sweater, black jeans, and assorted undergarments  
C. Quivering muscles and soft sweet skin, not limited to her stomach, thighs, and - you know  
D. There's a 'D'? Jeez, O'Malley...can't you put a test aside for **anything**?_

_...stomach, thighs, and - you know..._

_...oh, yes, you can..._

By the time George and Callie managed to tear themselves away from the bed to open the door for the room service cart - which they had unanimously (and loudly) declared needed to be left in the hall - the cheeseburgers were cold. The fries were limp. The ice cream was soaked into the brownie.

And they wolfed down every bite.

"You're feeling better," she said, sipping from a tall iced tea.

"Mm-hmm," George said. He dropped his spoon on to the empty dessert bowl. "That was delicious."

"It was," she replied. "Not KFC, I know..."

"Funny." He shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry - I'm sorry that I've been so - in myself. I haven't even congratulated you."

"On the Chief Resident thing? Yeah, it's cool." Her voice was oddly quiet now.

"Cool? It's better than that." He knew Bailey was broken-hearted about not being named to the position, and he knew why. Now Callie was acting sort of cavalier about it - which may have been just an act, sure, because she knew George and Bailey had a very real bond, and jumping up and down to celebrate a victory over someone he cared deeply about wasn't going to win her anything - but it still sparked a tiny bit of resentment in him. It was another surprise, one that was not wanted - since it was at least the second one today.

Callie seemed to sense his hurt. "You're right. It's much more than cool." She offered an apologetic smile. "Bailey not getting it, that doesn't bother you?"

George shrugged. "Shit happens, right?"

_Which body part would Miranda Bailey break off George O'Malley if she was in this room right now?_

_A. Arm  
B. Leg  
C. Head  
D. None of the Above - but it is a part that George has a significant attachment to..._

He shuddered. "Please forget I said that."

Callie smiled. "Done."

**_

* * *

The End (Unless...) _**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm Dead (But I Don't Know It)**

**_Tom Sez:_** Previously, I referred to this as a 'backdoor pilot'. Well, guess what, O Kind Reader?

Limited-run pick-up! (I promise! Short, sweet, and most definitely **_not_** what you'd expect! Trust Tom, and he shan't let you down...)

_**DisclaimerTronix 8000: **I have nothing whatsoever to do with the talented staff behind_ Grey's. _My particular brand of hackery is not televised or sold in stores - yet._

* * *

Callie had driven them to Seattle Grace this morning. When she reached the front gate of the parking garage, she'd been surprised by the greeting from the man in the booth, who handed her a new pass and level assignment. 

"Go to One," he said. "Space fifteen. And congratulations, Doctor Torres."

So she was smiling as pulled into her new parking spot. "Six down from Chief Webber's," she said. "Nice." But she had to admit, not as nice as the other cars that lined the walls - new or nearly-new luxury sedans and sports cars, all of which were surrounding her worn-and-torn Grand Cherokee. Sure, she'd had it since she'd graduated pre-Med (a gift from Dad for graduating with a four-point-oh GPA), but it hadn't made her feel insecure until this very moment.

"What would you think about getting a new car?" she asked, looking over at her husband, whose face had been as gray as this rainy Pacific Northwestern morning.

"Sorry?" George asked. His attention was obviously somewhere else - probably on his meeting with Webber, she thought.

Callie shook her head. "A new car. What do you think?"

George shrugged. "I kinda like this one."

"Me, too. But buying another car, maybe something a little flashy, a little sexy? That could be a lot of fun." She unbuckled her seatbelt and slid across the bench seat, pressing her body against his, hoping to cheer him a bit.

He stayed glum. "I guess."

She sighed and touched his cheek. "Sweetheart, I know today's gonna be hard. But once you've had a chance to talk to the Chief - "

"I know. The routine will come back to me, and..." He bit into his lower lip. "It's just that - I wish I didn't know so many people here. I wish nobody knew me."

"Look at me, George O'Malley," Callie demanded, and after a moment of bobbing his head, he finally met her eyes. "You are a fine doctor, and you will make it through this," she said. "I'll be busy today, but I'll be around, and if you want me to check in today or whatever - "

"No," George said. "Don't do that. I don't want anyone to think that I'm receiving special treatment, just because I'm married to the Chief Resident. And I certainly don't want you to have to take any extra crap. It wouldn't be fair."

Callie smiled at him. "You are one-of-a-kind," she said.

George returned a fuzzy translation of her expression. "Yeah. I'm a regular prince."

* * *

Callie had left him in the waiting area. He half-heartedly sipped a Sprite and watched the second hand on the clock make another sweep. One down - many, many more to go. Doctor George O'Malley felt like a three year-old, plunked down in a strange day care center, waiting anxiously for his mother to return - for anyway to return, really - so he could go home. He gritted his teeth and tried to dig in for the long haul. A two hour wait to speak with Chief Webber about starting his internship again had not been in his plans just a few days ago. Today was supposed to be his first day as a resident. Today was the day he would walk the halls with his attending, learning the ins and outs of being a real surgeon. Today he was going to join Meredith and Alex and Cristina and Izzie... 

_Which of the following is Isobel Stevens' best feature?_

_A. Her smile - warm and inviting  
B. Her neck - long and creamy and slender and lovely  
C. Her - _**ahem**_ - body - 'nuff said  
D. None of the Above - 'cause you're married, and you need to put her out of your mind, dumbass_

_And no mention of her eyes? Those wide, shining orbs were the first things you loved about her, remember?_

He noticed a young couple opposite him, their hands joined, fingers interlaced. The woman's eyes were red-rimmed, the man's body was slumped with obvious exhaustion. George could see a thick spatter of blood that had spidered and soaked into his sky blue T-shirt, then dried to that unmistakable crimsonish-brown.

"Take a picture," the man snapped.

George cleared his throat, embarrassed that he'd been caught looking. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to - "

"Whatever," the man replied, shooting a dagger at George, then dropping his posture again. The woman gave George a tired, apologetic smile, one that said more about their night before than words ever could, and squeezed the man's hand a little tighter.

_Who had a worse night last night?_

_A. The man with dried blood on his shirt  
B. The woman who looked like she'd cried until her tear ducts were dry as dust  
C. George O'Malley  
D. None of the Above - well, definitely not_ **C**_, anyway_

George nodded at the woman, then stood up, as if he simply wanted to stretch his legs. In truth, the man's shirt was making him feel more than a little impotent. Whether the man needed medical attention or just someone to vent toward, right now, in this building, George O'Malley was not an option. Maybe he'd never be one again. He walked toward the door, and pushed his way out, feeling his breath leaving him.

He pushed into the cool damp of the morning air, and kept walking, blood rushing in his ears. Every step away from the hospital was alternately liberating and excruciating. He wanted to run away from Seattle Grace - a place where he'd failed so many people, so many times, but then he'd think about his victories and his friendships and the people that he loved and needed and the career he'd dedicated his life to for so many years, and the tug-of-war finally sat him on a bench, hard.

It was then that George saw Izzie as she was walking across the plaza in front of the hospital's main entrance. She glanced in his direction, and when she realized that she wasn't imagining his presence, she stopped on a dime, about ten yards away. He put up a brave face, and a quick wave. She waved back, but neither one made any other move. They froze, eyes on each other. Then she seemed to marshall her forces and started toward him. He felt a surge of electricity through his entire being, a current that was building in intensity as she drew closer, and it made him tingle all over.

She was face-to-face with him soon enough. Her eyes searched his. "Hey, George," she said, attempting casual conversation.

_How much of George O'Malley's being wants to kiss Izzie Stevens right now?_

_A. 25 percent - and just a peck on her appled cheek  
B. 67 percent - and a light press against her sweet, sweet lips, with maybemaybemaybe a tongue tip touch  
C. 150 percent - and to carry her away and inflame her with desire forever and ever - which entails so much more than kissing  
D. None of the Above - 'cause the old ball-and-chain would pound him into ground meat for even so much as the peck_

_And besides, Georgie-poo, who were you having sex with just yesterday? It certainly wasn't Izzie._

"Hey," he replied.

"You didn't show up," she said, a thumb through the strap of her canvas backpack.

"No," he said.

"I waited," she said. "I waited and waited. And you didn't - "

George was looking for something to say, but all he could manage was, "I - uh - I'm sorry - I just - "

"I heard about the baby thing," she blurted.

Her words were a sharp punch - and a real eye-opener. "What?"

"Callie told me. At the church. When you didn't show up."

"Yeah, huh?" George said, still searching. "She told you - "

"It's great. I'm - I'm glad for you and Callie." Her smile wasn't glass - it was lead crystal.

"Wait a second." George put his hands up. "Callie just flat-out told you."

"Yeah. And I'm very happy for you. For both of you." She started to walk away.

That's when George grabbed her arm, gently. She turned back, and he saw her beautiful eyes shimmering. "God, I hate it when you cry," he said.

_Short Essay: George O'Malley hates to see Isobel Stevens cry. Explain in your own words why that would be true - and cite specific examples of times that George caused Izzie to cry, like maybe not showing up at the church yesterday, or telling her that he was transferring to Mercy West and that they'd cease to be friends. Along those lines, Crown Prince Jerk the First._

"I'm okay," she said. "Just a little tired from yesterday. You know how I am when I'm tired."

He did. It made him think of lazy Sundays (which were occasionally held on Tuesday or Thursday) where they'd be on the couch at Meredith's, watching an old movie on TV, and she'd snuggle into his chest and drift off to sleep, while he would stroke her silky blonde hair, listen to her soft breaths as she napped, and pretend that he wasn't taking pleasure in the warmth and tenderness of her body, or fantasizing about waking her with a kiss.

She broke his reverie, sniffling and wiping her eyes with the back of her jacket sleeve. "We have to go. Time for a move to the resident's locker room, right?"

He chuckled sadly and shook his head. "I failed."

Izzie squinted at him. "The exam?"

George kicked at the wet sidewalk. "Yeah."

"You - " she sputtered. "You? How?"

"Been asking myself the same question all day and all night," he said glumly.

Izzie sat next to him. "So...what now?"

George rubbed his eyes. "I have an appointment with the Chief in about two hours. He and I - I have to see if I can be reinstated in the program. Which means - "

" - you'll be an intern all over again," she sighed. "I'm sorry, George."

"No, Iz. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't come to the church. I'm sorry that I lied to you about - about a lot of things. I'm sorry that I - " He stopped himself. He had to stop himself.

_Why does George O'Malley have to stop himself?_

_A. He's a married man who doesn't believe in divorce (but now doubts his marrying motives)  
B. He's a married man who promised his wife a baby (but now doubts his motives for that, too)  
C. He's a married man - and that's all  
D. None of the Above - because stopping himself now will just make the ache last until the end of his life_

He leaned closer to her and whispered, "I'm sorry that I never said, 'I love you.' Especially when I had my chance."

Izzie's eyes brimmed with tears. "George?"

"From the first day, from the bottom of my heart." He smiled sadly at her. "And always. I love you, Isobel Stevens." Then he stood up and walked away.

Izzie sat on the bench in silence for a moment, then when she couldn't hold back the tears any longer, she buried her face in her hands.

* * *

Miranda Bailey had stormed the Chief's office during a meeting with one of the candidates for the open cardiothoracic position. "Doctor Webber, I need to speak with you," she said. "It can't wait." 

"Miranda," the Chief said. "I'm in the middle of an interview - "

"You need to hear me on this, sir."

Webber sighed. "I'm sorry, Doctor Bailey, but I - "

"Chief, Seattle Grace is making a serious mistake if we - if _**you**_ - cut George O'Malley from the surgical program. And personally, I will never forgive you if he leaves." She stared at him with all of her power. "**_Never._**"

Richard Webber hated feeling the oughta-be-patented 'Stare of the Nazi.' It was funny when it was happening to somebody else - anybody else. But here and now, if she had that particular skill, his head would have exploded. "Doctor - uh - uh - " he stammered.

"Huerta," the man said.

"Yes," Webber affirmed. "If you could possibly - "

"Certainly," the man replied weakly, disappearing from the room. He must've been receiving the stare via deflection, Richard thought.

Bailey didn't wait for the door to close. "If anyone of them deserves a do-over, it's George O'Malley."

"It doesn't work like that - and you know it, Miranda," Webber said firmly. "This test is not just administered by the hospital; it's governed by state regulations. We can't just - "

"You did," she almost snarled. "You gave Meredith Grey a second test, and time to take it."

Webber tried to get around her point. "That's different. She - "

" - is someone you have a history with, therefore she's earned special - yes, I said special - treatment?" Bailey's tone was acidic.

"No," he replied icily. "That's not it." The words didn't taste right coming from his mouth, and he knew it.

Bailey responded to his chilliness with pure fire. "Yes, it is. Apparently."

"Look, Miranda," the Chief replied, sounding a bit exhausted. "I like O'Malley, too, okay? And I am sorry he failed the test. He's a good man, and he's going to be a good doctor, whatever happens. But protocols are to be followed."

Bailey frowned. "Then Grey has to be gone, too."

"What?"

"Grey flunked," she said flatly. "Flunked, Chief. If O'Malley's gone, and doesn't get a second shot, then you have to void Grey's score, and dump her from the program as well. If we're following protocol."

"But - "

"Chief. Quit fighting me on this."

Webber sighed. It was deep and heavy, like he was unloading a mass of psychic weight. "I had to call in a favor to get Grey's test re-administered, and another to have her first score tossed out. If - _**if**_ -O'Malley wants a second test, _**he's**_ the one who has to request it - and he has to request it, in writing, from me." He paused to let his words sink in. "And that means that he'll have to go before the hospital board - if they even agree to hear him out, which is at their discretion - and explain, in detail, why he deserves a do-over." He studied her eyes. "He has to be one hundred-percent honest and forthcoming about his reasons. And even then, after jumping through that hoop, he still might have to petition the state, regardless of the board's decision, and the process would go back to square one." Webber paused again. "It could take months. Years, even."

Miranda nodded sagely, then said in her sweetest tone, "So are you gonna call the board now and put in the request or did you want some privacy to do it?"

* * *

_**(Not) The End**_


End file.
